“What, move the Senior stone?” cried Whistle-Breeches aghast.
“Exactly,” answered Cap, “it isn’t chained down; is it?”
“No, but it weighs several tons,” declared Bill, “and besides it is almost sacred. Why, it’s a piece of a meteor that some polar discoverer brought back and presented to the school. The Seniors have always claimed it, and that’s where they hold their farewell doings every commencement.”
“I know it,” said Cap. “All the more reason for moving it. The meteor must be tired of staying so long in one place. Besides we owe the Seniors something, for the way they turned in and helped the Juniors haze us this term.”
“But—move the Senior stone!” gasped Pete, as if it was a crime unheard of.
The Senior’s stone at Westfield was an ancient and honorable institution. I forgot how many years it had occupied a spot on the campus, and, as Bill said, the graduates always gathered about it at Commencement and had “doings” there. The stone, which was of meteoric origin, was very heavy, and was considered almost sacred to the upper class. Freshmen were required by school tradition to take off their hats when passing it.
“Now what do you say to it?” asked Cap, when the idea had sufficiently filtered through the minds of his brothers and their visitor. “Wouldn’t that be worth doing?”
“If we could manage it,” answered Pete. “But it’s infernally heavy, and how could we shift it?”
“Easy,” answered Cap. “I’ve got it all worked out.”
“It would take half the class to carry it,” went on Bill, “and if we get a crowd like that out on the campus at night the faculty would be on in a minute, to say nothing of the Seniors.”